“I want to know what you mean to do,” said Maggie, struggling hard to keep her temper.
“Well, missie miss, poor Bo-peep means to marry your good ma, and he wants a nice ’ittle dirl to come and live with ma and pa at Clapham; pretty house, solid furniture, garden stocked with fruit-trees, a swing for good ’ittle dirl, a nice room for dear Popsy to sleep in, no more lessons, no more fuss, no more POVERTY! That’s what new pa proposes to ma’s ’ittle dirl. What does ’ittle dirl say?”
There was a dead silence in the room. Mrs. Howland looked with wild apprehension at her daughter. Mr. Martin had, however, still a jovial and smiling face.
“Down on its knees ought Popsy-wopsy to go,” he said. “Tears might come in Popsy-wopsy’s eyes, and the ’ittle dirl might say, ‘Dearest pa that is to be, I love you with all my heart, and I am glad that you’re going to marry ma and to take me from horrid school.’”
But there was no sign on the part of Maggie Howland of fulfilling these expectations on the part of the new pa. On the contrary, she stood upright, and then said in a low voice, “This has been a very great shock to me.” 85
“Shock!” cried Martin. “What do you mean by that, miss?”
“I must speak,” said Maggie. “You must let me, sir; and, mother, you must let me. It is for the last time. Quite the last time. I will never be here to offend you any more.”
“’Pon my word!” said Martin, springing to his feet, and his red, good-humored face growing crimson. “There’s gratitude for you! There’s manners for you!—Ma, how ever did you bring her up?”
“Let me speak,” said Maggie. “I am sorry to hurt your feelings, sir. You are engaged to my mother.”
“Ra-ther!” said Mr. Martin. “My pretty birdling hopped, so to speak, into my arms. No difficulties with her; no drawing back on the part of Little-sing. She wanted her Bo-peep, and she—well, her Bo-peep wanted her.”